


all the things unsaid

by kivalka



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Era, Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:21:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivalka/pseuds/kivalka
Summary: I love you, I love you, I love you,say Merlin’s fingers as they fasten Arthur’s breastplate, his vambrace, his pauldron.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 355





	all the things unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick one-shot that popped into my head the other day, but I'm quite proud of how it turned out! Comments much appreciated as always :)
> 
> disclaimer: i do not own any of these characters (except Eustace)

Arthur’s mind is elsewhere as he climbs out of the bath and pulls on the breeches and shirt Eustace, his manservant, laid out for him. He’s thinking, mostly, about whether it would be an affront to the knights’ code if he were to ban duels to the death. Because Arthur doesn’t particularly want to die today. Nor does he want to kill the minor lord who thought it would be a good idea to challenge the king to a fight over the kingdom’s new tax regulations. 

Eustace himself is silently laying out Arthur’s armour on the table. He’s a decent manservant – quite excellent, really, all things considered – but in that moment Arthur aches for Merlin’s inane chatter, for his impromptu pep talks that somehow always manage to hit and debunk Arthur’s deepest insecurities.

If there are any higher powers, apparently they’ve heard Arthur’s not-quite-prayer; Eustace pokes his head out the door to answer a knock, then announces, “Lord Merlin would like to speak with you, sire.” 

More likely, Merlin just knows Arthur well enough to understand all the things unsaid. Arthur prefers the second explanation. 

Merlin slips into Arthur’s chambers, looking every bit the court sorcerer in a white shirt and a sleeveless, midnight-blue tunic with silver fastenings. Well, perhaps not _every_ bit – Arthur entertains the fantasy of suggesting an ominous hooded cloak or a glowing staff to complete the outfit. And to make Merlin less unfairly attractive, if such a thing is possible. 

“Arthur,” Merlin says, placing a hand on the polished back of a chair. It’s a statement. Neither soft nor firm. _Hi,_ it says, _I’m here for you._

“Merlin,” Arthur replies, “I was just about to send for you.” _Thank you,_ he implies, _that means more to me than I can possibly express_. 

They stand there for a moment, the three of them, bathing in the sounds of the incoming crowd that drift up through Arthur’s open window. _So many people, come to watch a man die._ Then Arthur speaks, gently. “Leave us, Eustace.” And Eustace does.

Arthur steps forward to face Merlin across the table, the space still charged but somehow comfortably so, now that they’re alone. 

“You’re going to tell me that I’m being ridiculous and I should quit pretending all my problems can be solved with a sword and cancel the challenge.”

Merlin smiles. “And you’re going to say that you can’t because the King of Camelot must be seen upholding the knights’ code, and that you’ll spare him if you can.” 

Arthur inclines his head in assent. They gaze at each other a while more in silence. What is there to say, Arthur thinks, to a man who knows his every secret and sticks around anyway? Several things come to mind. He says none of them. 

The silence is broken simultaneously, of course. They both gesture at the armour on the table. Arthur asks, “Would you…” and Merlin, “Do you want me to…” _You’re the only one I really trust with my life,_ Arthur’s request says. _I know,_ says Merlin’s. 

One finger at a time, Merlin loosens his black leather gloves. He peels them off and lays them soundlessly by Arthur’s own gloves. Arthur’s eyes rove over Merlin’s long fingers and his callused palms, his occasional small scars from chores or spellwork mishaps. Merlin sees Arthur looking, and lets him.

With practiced motions, Merlin lifts Arthur’s chain mail and strides around the table. Arthur clenches his teeth as the cold metal slides over his chest and back. 

_I love you, I love you, I love you,_ say Merlin’s fingers as they fasten Arthur’s breastplate, his vambrace, his pauldron. 

Arthur knows he can’t possibly feel the warmth of Merlin’s hands through his heavy chainmail, but he carries on imagining he can. The now-habitual fear that this is the closest he’ll ever get to Merlin seizes his heart. Merlin does up Arthur’s sword belt and hands him his gloves. 

Once he’s pulled on his gloves, Arthur feels secure enough behind all his layers to take Merlin’s hands. Merlin looks up with a small, hopeful smile. And God, saying this is going to be like peeling off all those layers again and laying his heart naked on the stone floor for Merlin to see, but there’s a small voice in Arthur’s head whispering that he actually could die today, and besides, Merlin already knows and probably knew before Arthur did himself, so this is more an acknowledgement than a confession. Nevertheless, Arthur’s a bit (well, quite a bit) shaky when he says, “I hope that, one day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me for my cowardice in this.”

Merlin smiles, half-mocking, half-reverent. “It is already forgiven.” He must sense Arthur’s incredulity, because he adds, “When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you.”

Arthur can feel a sob building in his throat, and his voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. “What if I’m never ready?” _What if I can never build up the courage to risk my kingdom for love, even though you’re worth that and so much more?_

Merlin lifts Arthur’s gloved hand to his lips, presses a lingering kiss to the soft, wrinkled leather. “I told you once,” he says against Arthur’s knuckles, “that I would be happy to serve you until the day I die. That has not changed. I will be by your side for as long as you’ll have me.”

This time, Arthur doesn’t even trust himself to whisper. He takes several breaths to calm his racing heart and tightening throat. He curses the glove separating his hand from Merlin’s lips, curses himself for feeling safer that way, curses the fact that though Merlin is right in front of him and Arthur wants nothing more than to kiss him and knows Merlin would kiss back, he can’t seem to do it. 

They stay like that for a while. Then, impossibly gently, Merlin drops Arthur’s hand and moves to pick up his sword. He tests the edge with his thumb – no wonder he has so many scars on his fingers, Arthur thinks absently – and hands it to Arthur. 

Arthur is numb as he walks down to the arena. Merlin is already there, sitting in the box with Morgana, and for one wild instant Arthur wishes he had asked Merlin for a favour to wear, one of his old neckerchiefs, perhaps. But of course it’s not necessary, Arthur realises, because Merlin’s love is stitched into every fastening of his armour, every link of his chainmail, every fiber of his being. 

And Arthur’s love…

Arthur’s love is in the repeal of the ban on magic, in the peace with the druids, in every decision he’s ever made as ruler.

But mostly, Arthur’s love is in the vow he makes to himself that this will be the last day he lives as a coward.


End file.
